Rhapsody

by Elizabeth Haydon

  “Surely you are joking,” said the Lord Roland. “Waiver of tariff? What is the point in trade without tariff?”

  “Trade without tariff is called commerce, m’lord,” Rhapsody answered gently. “It is the fair exchange of goods for other goods, services, or currency. It is the practice in its true form before the tax collector became involved. King Achmed refuses to pay the tariff that supports the armies which have long abused his subjects. He would, however, see it as a gesture of real intention for peace should you agree to the waiver.”

  “I, for one, would be willing to waive the tariff for Navarne,” Lord Stephen added, ignoring vicious looks from the two Orlandan brothers. “First, I think each province would be free to set its tax rate as it is now, would it not, Tristan?”

  “That is the current practice,” said the Lord Roland.

  “Well, Navarne owes the King of Ylorc a debt of gratitude stemming from his participation in the rescue of the children of its province. In addition, one would say that the Cymrian line of Roland might have similar appreciation regarding the liberation of the House of Remembrance, as well as the restoration of the Tree there.” He winked surreptitiously at Rhapsody.

  “So why don’t you agree to the tax waiver for Bethany, Tristan, and let the others do as they like? I would hazard a guess that the other provinces would be willing to trade an initial tariff just for a look at Firbolg-crafted weapons.”

  “Indeed. Well, I suppose there is no harm in that,” said the Lord Roland testily.

  “Excellent. Thank you,” said Rhapsody. She smiled brightly, and bent to amend and sign the document, unaware of the stares of longing that entered the eyes of the men sitting opposite her. “Now, what’s next?”

  The Lord Regent unrolled another scroll. “In exchange for the promise of nonaggression and the return of the bodies of the casualties in the last raid, Roland agrees, as a united kingdom, to refrain from any unwarranted hostility against the lands of Ylorc.”

  Rhapsody shook her head, maintaining her pleasant expression.

  “No, I can’t agree to that,” she said reluctantly. “First, there are no bodies to return. It is as if your army sank at sea without a trace, m’lord; commit their memory to history and forget about the mortal remains.”

  She leaned forward and spoke in a confidential whisper. “Between us, the battle was over in less than a quarter hour, although some residual action went on for a few more minutes. After that, it was as if nothing had ever happened.

  “In addition, I’m afraid I don’t like the term ‘unwarranted.’ What Roland had considered warranted for centuries is what brings us here today. No, I think this should be a standard nonaggression pact, signed between both rulers.

  “King Achmed guarantees his citizens will not invade or aggress on the people of Roland, in exchange for which the Lord Roland will guarantee the same thing reciprocally. Any violation of the treaty is the breaking of the sovereign’s oath, and will be considered an act of war, assuageable only by immediate deeding of land in the amount of ten percent of the aggressor’s realm. How’s that?” She stifled a laugh at the three shocked faces in front of her.

  “Isn’t that excessive?” asked the young benison of Canderre-Yarim. “Who would want ten percent of Ylorc?”

  Rhapsody laughed merrily. Her mirth had the tone of chiming church bells.

  “Why, Your Grace, how refreshing. An honest question, to be sure, but certainly not the proper and holy way to look at it. You see, if Roland’s intentions are strictly honorable, as I’m sure they are, and the oath of the Lord Regent is as ironclad as I believe it to be, you could guarantee any price, because your honor as a people is at stake.

  “And as to the value of Ylorc, I don’t need to remind you that this was once the Cymrian seat of power, the place where your ancestors chose to rule. Don’t judge things at their surface value, Your Grace. There are as many children of the All-God within those mountains as in all of your See, probably more. I’m sure to you that alone makes it worth protecting, am I right?”

  “Ye-yes,” the benison stuttered, withering under the thunderous look directed his way from the Lord Regent. “Well, she’s right, Tristan. That seems a fair compromise, to be sure.”

  The Lord Roland seized the quill and scratched the terms into the parchment, quivering with rage. When he finished, Rhapsody took the pen from him to sign as well; her hand rested lightly on his for a moment. When it moved away, his fingers betrayed only the slightest tremor, the floridity of his face cooling immediately.

  “That brings up my part,” said the benison. He unrolled the last scroll and held the corners down for her examination.

  “Bethe Corbair has always been the See within which the Bolglands belonged. This document is the inscription of the Blesser of Bethe Corbair, Lanacan Orlando, offering religious solace and membership within his See, at our request, for the—er—citizenry of Ylorc.

  “The benison of Bethe Corbair has agreed to provide you with clergy, religious rites, and pilgrimage escort, as well as sanctuary and healing, with appropriate tithing, of course.”

  He looked nervously at the dukes; this was the most risky proposition. The Bolglands bordered on Sorbold as well, another benison’s See loyal to the Patriarch. Should Ylorc choose Sorbold instead, it would be vastly unbalancing to the theocratic power of Roland.

  Rhapsody smiled again. “Thank you, Your Grace. That is a matter I had not anticipated. The religious loyalty of the Firbolg is not something to which I feel qualified to speak. They have their own shamen, and their own theology. Perhaps there is interest in your church, or the religion of Gwynwood. Either way, I cannot speak to it today.

  “It would be best if you or the Blesser of Bethe Corbair himself sent an emissary to discuss this in depth with the king. He told me to relay to you that he will be receiving ambassadors after the first of the month.”

  The benison nodded numbly.

  “Well, then, gentlemen, if that is all, I thank you most sincerely and bid you good morning.” Rhapsody rose and motioned to the guards, who collected the table and the chairs before the Orlandan nobles were even fully standing. She tucked her copies of the documents into the pocket of her cloak.

  “Wait,” said Lord Stephen as she turned to go. “We have a few gifts for you. Mine are both tokens of appreciation from the people of Navarne and mementos from your grandchildren, including a small portrait of them.”

  Rhapsody grinned in delight. “My! Thank you! How are Gwydion and Melisande?”

  “Very well, thank you. They send their love, and wish to express their gratitude for the flute and harp you sent them. They hope you will be by soon to see them.”

  “I hope so as well. Kiss them for me, will you, and tell them I think of them daily, as I promised? Perhaps they can come and visit me here one day.”

  “Perhaps,” Stephen said, avoiding the incredulous glances of his cousins. “Stay well.”

  He stepped back to allow the guards to transfer the chests that the other two nobles had brought to Rhapsody’s horses, then kissed her hand and took to the saddle. The others followed suit, and she waved as they rode off toward the west.

  The Lord Roland paused at the edge of the field, a strange look on his face, then raised his hand. Rhapsody smiled and dropped him a deep, respectful curtsy as she had the first time they met. A broad smile broke over his face. He spurred his horse and galloped out of sight.

  “Not bad for a peasant, eh, Llauron?” she said to herself as she returned to her mare. She slapped away the hands of the Bolg guard who was examining the gift chest. “Hey, keep your mitts off. That’s my present.”

  55

  “Here, give me that; you’re going to eat them all.”

  “What, you wanted to set them in store for winter? Besides, I’ve been sharing.”

  “Right. One for me, six for you, one for me, four for you—”

  “Well, you’re a tiny little runt. You need less food.”

  “Watch it,�
� Rhapsody said, trying to look stern and failing miserably. “We’ll go ten rounds with mace and chain and we’ll see who’s a tiny little runt.”

  Jo swallowed the bonbon and made a face. “Mace and chain?” she said in mock disgust, wiping the chocolate smear from her face with the back of her hand and snatching another sweet from the tin. “Firbolg toys. Give me a dagger any day.”

  Rhapsody smiled and made a grab for the last chocolate on the top layer. Jo snagged it and popped it into her mouth, grinning.

  “Dagger is a weapon with more finesse, I agree,” Rhapsody said, settling for a dried apple. “But it won’t do you much good if you need to maintain some distance. What do you think of this candy?”

  “’Sss mgooddd,” Jo answered, her mouth full. She swallowed and pulled out the empty divider, opening another layer of the box for exploration. She dove in, scattering comfits and sweetmeats onto the bed and floor around her, hooting with delight as she discovered more of her favorites, with an expression so gleeful that Rhapsody could not help but laugh in pleasure at the sight of her. “But I can still taste that shit you fed me to ward off poison. Honestly, who would put poison in a gift meant to curry favor with a king?”

  Rhapsody gave her an amused look of disbelief. “This is Achmed we’re talking about here. I’m amazed it wasn’t full of acid.”

  “Is that the reason you refused to wear the lovely garnet earrings sent by the benison of Avonderre-Navarne?”

  “No, I was afraid those would turn my ears green, the taw-dry things. I have to admit I’m a jewelry snob. I don’t wear much of it, but I like it to be nice.”

  Jo took a bite of another candy. “Except that one day in Bethe Corbair, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything but that locket,” she said, pointing to the gold lavaliere that dangled from Rhapsody’s neck on its thin chain. Rhapsody took it in her hand and looked at it for a moment, but said nothing.

  “Anyway, whoever this Lord MacAlwaen is, he has good taste in things that taste good,” Jo said, unwrapping some caramelized nuts.

  “He’s a western baron; his lands are a little to the south of Sepulvarta,” Rhapsody said, stretching out on the floor. “Be careful; those are harder than they look. I would guess his gifts are purely a courtesy; he’s not particularly vulnerable to Ylorc.”

  “As if Achmed could be bought off with candy.”

  “Well, that’s not all he sent. It’s actually a pretty clever gift, because it tacitly recognizes that there is a new sophistication in the leadership of the Firbolg.”

  “Tacitly? I guess that sophistication doesn’t include me. What in hairy balls is tacitly?”

  “Sorry; it means basically, naturally, silently. Are there any more nougats?”

  “Not anymore,” Jo giggled, tossing the last in the air and catching it in her mouth. “They are tacitly gone.”

  “Wench.” Rhapsody smiled at Jo; it was good to see her laugh. “I think I’m going to keep your present after all.”

  Jo rubbed her mouth with the back of her sleeve and sat up in interest. “Present? What present?”

  “Well, I just thought with all these gifts of state pouring in for Achmed that you deserved a little something, too. But you’ve been such an unbelievable hog with that box of sweetmeats that—”

  Jo’s eyes widened. She quickly grabbed the first thing she could find in the box and offered it to Rhapsody with a comic sincerity. Rhapsody looked down; it was a prune. The two burst into gales of laughter.

  “All right, all right,” Rhapsody said, rising and shaking the chocolate crumbs off the long skirt of her nightgown. She went to the high wardrobe, brought by cart from Bethany, and hauled out a large wooden crate. She dragged it across to the bed, and with an elaborate curtsy presented it to Jo, who grabbed it and pulled the top off, spilling the wood chips used for packing all over Rhapsody’s chamber.

  Jo unwrapped the stiff paper at top of the box to find many small flat disks with metal spikes in the center. She looked at Rhapsody quizzically. “Oh, thank you,” she said sweetly, “just what I wanted—cockroach traps.”

  Rhapsody laughed. “Keep going.” She watched as Jo dug further and brought out a handful of candle tapers, both tall and short in multicolor hues. “I thought since you didn’t have a fireplace in your room, you might like to have some warmth and light at night.”

  Jo looked amazed. “There must be a thousand in here.” she said, examining one closely. “In all my life I only ever had one, and it was for emergency use only. Got it off a dead soldier.” She carefully returned it to the box and looked up, a strange look in her eyes. “Thanks, Rhaps.”

  “You’re more than welcome,” Rhapsody said, touched by the expression on her face. It was like looking at herself a few years back. “Don’t hoard them, use them. We can always get more. I mean to make your life a brighter place than it used to be.”

  “Which is why you brought me to live under a mountain surrounded by Firbolg.” Jo smiled. “Let’s go try them out.” She pulled herself off the bed and lifted the large crate. Rhapsody opened the door, and they scurried across the hall to Jo’s room, lugging the heavy box.

  Rhapsody let out a little shriek as Jo opened the door. “Gods, what happened in here?” she said, surveying the mess. “Your room has been ransacked. I’ll go tell Achmed and have him get the guards—”

  “What are you talking about?” Jo asked incredulously. “It’s fine—it’s just the way I left it.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Rhapsody, looking at the clutter in bewilderment. “You did this on purpose?”

  “Of course,” answered Jo indignantly. “Don’t you know anything about hiding stuff?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “You’ve gotta do it in plain sight,” said Jo, wading through the litter, pulling the crate with her. She sat down on the rumpled blankets of her unkempt bed. “That way nobody can find anything.” She rummaged through the box again and pulled out a variety of candles, then began spearing them onto the metal candleholders.

  “Including you,” said Rhapsody, observing the disorder with a mixture of horror and amusement on her face. “You could get lost in here yourself, and we’d never find you, Jo.” Gingerly she stepped over a pile of dirty clothes and around some debris from an in-room snack, to a small wooden chair onto which several pairs of shoes had been thrown. She removed the footwear and sat down cautiously.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jo retorted, tossing a few of the tapers at Rhapsody along with some of the disks. “I know where absolutely every last thing is. I’ll prove it. Give me an example.”

  “Oh, Jo, I’d be afraid to ask.”

  “Go on, name something, and I’ll tell you where it is.”

  Rhapsody cast a glance around the room, then set to work on the candles, hiding her smile. “All right, where are your wrist sheaths?”

  Jo gave her a disgusted look and held up her wrists. “Ahem.”

  “You wear your daggers to bed?” Rhapsody asked in astonishment.

  “Only two,” Jo answered defensively, covering the sheaths with the sleeves of her nightgown again. “The rest I keep under the pillow.”

  “Gods. All right, where do you keep your money?”

  Jo glared at her suspiciously.

  “Never mind, bad choice. Let’s see, how about that book I gave you to practice your letters in?”

  “Ah-ha!” Jo crowed triumphantly. She shot out of the bed and bustled over to an enormous stack of crates, cloaks, and tins of dried meat. After shifting the equivalent of her own weight in garbage and rummaging through several cloth sacks, she finally held up a tattered bound manuscript. She blew the dust off and dropped it in Rhapsody’s lap, a smug look of victory on her face.

  “I can see you’re studying hard,” Rhapsody said in dismay.

  “One more. Ask me another one.”

  “No, that’s not necessary, Jo, I believe you.”

  “Come on, Rhaps. This was just getting good. Ask me another.”
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  “Well, where do you keep your clean undergarments?”

  Jo looked uncomfortable. “Define clean.”

  “Eweeeyuuu.” Rhapsody looked sick. “What do you mean, define clean? There’s clean; there’s not clean. What else is there?”

  “Well, there’s sort of clean,” Jo said, looking sheepish. “You know, stuff that’s only been worn this month or last.”

  “Please, I beg you, don’t tell me any more,” Rhapsody said seriously. “You win, Jo. As soon as I go back to my room, I’ll adopt your system. Just please, don’t make me ask you anything else.”

  “Oh, who are you kidding?” Jo retorted, standing up with the candles in her hands. “If you don’t have your clothes organized in order by color of the rainbow with matching accessories stored in attached bags you go into an apoplectic fit. Where do you think we should put these?”

  Rhapsody looked around the room. “Didn’t you used to have a dresser in here somewhere?”

  Jo brightened. “Good idea,” she said, and navigated over to an enormous mound decorated with clothes in all different states of soil. With a sweeping motion she shoved the clothing onto the floor, revealing the dresser, and began setting the candles carefully on it.

  Rhapsody shuddered, lifted the hem of her nightgown, and picked her way through Jo’s treasures until she made it to the other side of the room. She began surreptitiously straightening some of the area under the guise of setting up her candles on a large trunk.

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea, Jo. I would hate to see a fire in here.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jo said, rummaging through the dresser. “I’ll move everything into one or two big piles in the middle of the floor; that ought to do it.”

  “Only if you then set them ablaze,” said Rhapsody. She touched each taper and concentrated on the fire within her soul. The wicks glowed, then snapped with flame.

  “Whoa,” said Jo, watching from the other side of the room. “That’s impressive. Where’s your flint? I can’t find my tinderbox.”